


Perfect

by violetnyte



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte/pseuds/violetnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was so sneering and wicked, so haughty and divine, so perfect." -- A short scene of Porthos and Phobos, done by request. My first time writing either of these so, uh? I tried?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_nerd_word](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_word/gifts).



Porthos sat on the edge of the bunk with his head in his hands, the short fringe of his mohawk sticking wildly between his clutched hands. Phobos sprawled behind and to the side of him, naked from glorious pouty nose to cute curling toes. The younger navigator reached out a hand to absently and not very affectionately pat at Porthos’ muscled thigh.

“There, there,” Phobos said, his sing-song voice gone flat. The words fell like cold little raindrops against Porthos’ bowed shoulders. “Happens to everyone sometimes.” Not to him, though, not when he was so sneering and wicked, so haughty and divine, so perfect.

The reassurance only made Porthos despair further.

Phobos licked his lips with a sigh.  He slid all the creamy white perfect of his skin along the bed to join Porthos on the edge of the mattress. A faint smell and heat of sweat still graced the delicate line of his shoulders, and Porthos lifted up his head to watch the flex and bend of the Phobos’ gently muscled arms. Phobos balanced easily across Porthos’ lap, smooth thighs flexing as he arched into him with lazy, wanton seduction.

Their gazes met and stuck, held long enough that eventually a small twist brought up the corner of Phobos’ mouth. He shifted, neatly bringing their faces together, pressing the smallness of his smile against the warmth of Porthos’ lips. Phobos tasted just as he looked, creamy and sweet with a wicked bite, heat and decadence, like chocolate with cayenne. Porthos’ favorite flavor.

The needy press of Phobos’ fingers into his back sent out tendrils of heat and excitement. Like a wild cat sometimes, clawing long ribbons of possession into the broad expanse of Porthos’ back, so that afterward he turned sweet again and kissed at the marks, rubbed gel across the welts to heal them faster, never apologizing because there was nothing to be sorry about. When Phobos shifted to put their mouths apart, Porthos leaned after him eagerly.

Phobos tucked his chin and turned his eyes up, so pretty and ready. He brought his hand around to the front and tickled the curved edges of his nails down the damp trail of sweat down Porthos’ chest. He kept reaching, lower, pressing with more insistence with thighs and hands, giving his mouth again, his tongue.

Porthos could feel the wicked curve of his lover’s mouth as Phobos’ palm slicked over his hard, eager erection. He put a big hand against Phobos’ tight rump and pulled him forward, grinding them together so that Phobos made a delightful gasp against their joined mouths.

“Mmm – you, ah?” Whatever question Phobos meant to ask ceased to matter when Porthos put the blunt press of his finger into the tight warmth, already slick from their earlier attempt, ready enough that he pushed in deep. Phobos shivered and tightened his grip against Porthos. He shifted into an arching moan, a little wildcat, mewling and clawing as Porthos prepped him quick.

Porthos leaned back some, shifting his weight against the edge of the mattress. Phobos’ knees pressed close to him as they adjusted, arranged themselves, got their bodies aligned and then fit together. Phobos slid down with a deep, gliding flex of his thighs. They shuddered together for a moment to relish the connection before beginning to move.

“Oooh –ah!” Phobos dug in his nails hard enough to sting.

Porthos hissed and thrust harder, the motion causing Phobos to drag his hands down the rippling strength of Porthos’ toned back. With an almost snarling groan, Porthos shoved Phobos from his lap and into the bed. Phobos brought his legs up easily, pretty calves hugging to Porthos’ waist as the bigger man knelt between. He pushed into Phobos’ tight heat once more, fucking him hard and fast like they both wanted.

“Aa-aah!” The sweet music of Phobos’ cries lifted higher, matching the relentless rhythm of Porthos’ thrusts. Face flushed and hair tangled, eyes half-lidded and the fiendish edge of his mouth still curled – fuck, Phobos was just so pretty and perfect! “Aa-aah!”

It was the same as before, Porthos getting so wrapped up in Phobos’ pretty perfection that he risked losing his focus, risked going limp again to ruin this. Before that could happen, however, Phobos shot off quick and gasping. His cries broke into a stretching, breathless, “Oo—oohh, fuu-uuck!” Like a purring, mewling, sweet little wildcat, claws out and digging, blistering long welts into Porthos’ back. He came hard, spurting between them, legs tightening with spastic, twitching shudder—

“F-fuck,” Porthos moaned.  “You’re so—nng!”

“Mmm… yeah?” Because Phobos licked up compliments like a cat eating cream.

Porthos drove into him, pushing Phobos’ body against the bed with a steady rocking. “So pretty!”

“And?” Phobos gasped. He still shivered with aftershocks as the last of his come dribbled against his flat, taut belly.

“And—“ Porthos leaned over his lover with a strangled groan. “You’re hot.”

“Mmhm.” Because he knew it, flaunted it, vain and preening to always look his best.  He smiled, open and pretty, playfully teasing and warm all over, pink-cheeked and breathless, looking soft and sweet, precious but _wicked_ , just like Porthos wanted him to look. “What else?”

“Oh, hell – everything!” Porthos pushed into all that pretty tight heat with deep, deliberate effort, the motion of his hips beginning to slow as he neared his peak. He usually let Phobos do all the talking, but words fell out of him now in a groaning, gasping, incoherent stream. “You’re hot, so hot, wicked and pretty, _fuck_ , your smile and the way you laugh and, nng – _damn_! Just want to – f-fuck, all the time, love fucking you, love being with you, so glad I met you, just want to – oh, fuck!”

And Phobos laughed, the tittering sound almost a giggle, playful and teasing so it shot straight into Porthos’ groin and made him tight, ready to burst. Phobos ran his hands over the tender marks he’d shred into Porthos’ shoulders so that they stung a fierce reminder of possession and all his eager wildness. “Mmm – yeah?”

“Yeah!” Porthos’ breath caught, his thrusts turned jerky, and then he sunk all the way in to shudder and shudder, almost crushing Phobos with his strength. “I, ah, _fuck_ – love you!”

Phobos laughed again, pretty and cruel with it, maybe surprised with the soft way he brushed his delicate fingers through the crest of Porthos’ hair. “Mmm, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.” With a final hitched gasp, Porthos pulled free and collapsed into the bed. He rolled to his side when Phobos shoved a hand at him and complained about the heavy weight. He panted in sated exhaustion and rolled further to stretch out on his back. Flares of irritation striped up his back like beacons. Phobos cuddled against him with a slow, soft laugh.

It took a few minutes for the cloudy afterglow to part enough that Porthos realized just what the hell he’d said. Been thinking it for a while, getting distracted all the time, thinking it and feeling confused but never saying it. He let Phobos do all the talking usually, liked hearing the sneering cut of his arched sarcasm, the whispered fury of his voice. Phobos was adorably petty, jealous at the drop of a hat, so fucking perfect and, shit. Porthos had finally said it.

“Uh.” It was hard to talk now with his heart still going fast, with how drained out and lazy he felt. Porthos shifted some to put his fingers into the tousled gleam of Phobos’ pretty pale hair. “You, uh, yeah?”

Phobos rolled a snorted laugh into the back of his throat. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Exceedingly so, that was – mmm, yes.” He laughed again, the teasing edge back into his bitter sweetness. “Very nice.”

“Oh. Uh, good.” Porthos wasn’t sure what else to say. He felt Phobos’ cheek rub into his shoulder as the smaller man twisted around to find a comfortable position. Phobos settled against him with a languid sigh. They fit together so neatly, so perfectly, or, at least, Porthos thought so. 


End file.
